


Glug

by WhoopsOK



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Piss, Urophagia, Watersports, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: He’s looking out the window, trying for disinterested. Failing miserably. “I imagine I don’t need to comment on the sterility of urine.”Joan shuts her eyes, because for a genius he woefully misses the point sometimes. “That is not the problem here."(Sherlock has a request and Joan is not opposed.)





	Glug

**Author's Note:**

> Belated Kinktober Day 20: Urophagia
> 
> Disclosure… I actually really like this show, but I’ve only seen it in bits and pieces. I want them to do a marathon day or something so I can binge it, but alas.

“ _Urophagia_.” Joan repeats, flat with shock.

Sherlock glances in her direction without quite making it all the way to her gaze. “It’s—”

“Those roots I can put together, Sherlock,” she says, perhaps a little more brusquely than she means to, but _honestly._ This isn’t a conversation she was ready to have before she even set her purse down, for goodness’ sake. It’s like that sometimes with him, if a conversation is never officially _concluded_ , it is assumed to be ongoing for everyone. When she’d made the comment, _weeks_ ago, that surely handcuffs weren’t the kinkiest thing Sherlock had gotten up to, she’d accepted his non-answer. It was rather private, of course, but now he’s _mentioning_ it and Joan hasn’t got a clue what to do about it. “That’s…unusual?”

“Statistically, not very,” Sherlock scoffs, but then wipes a nervous hand over his mouth. “As a doctor, I’m sure you’ve well and truly had the squeamishness bashed out of you,” he says in a rush and Joan sees where this is going instantly, but on one hand _can’t fucking believe it_. Some of the baffled distaste must show on her face, because there go the fingers of his right hand tapping out a hectic beat against the left, a beat that very nearly moves through his whole body. He’s looking out the window, trying for disinterested. Failing miserably. “I imagine I don’t need to comment on the sterility of urine.”

Joan shuts her eyes, because for a genius he _woefully_ misses the point sometimes. “That is _not_ the problem here.”

Sherlock squints at her. “Then?”

Well, starting with the obvious. “I don’t want to drink your _pee_!”

“Brilliant,” Sherlock says, clapping his hands together. “I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

That leaves Joan standing agog, because…well, that had been her only argument, actually. She considers quickly and concludes: she is not opposed to sex with Sherlock, nor is she opposed to indulging this kink isolated from actually having sex. It’s not that nothing like this has ever crossed her mind, they’re accused of being a couple too often for it to _not,_ but she’s never _thought_ about it and certainly never been in a situation where it was _imminent_. But here she is, actually thinking about pissing on her best friend. “ _Seriously_ ,” she says, not quite a question, shocked at the both of them to be honest.

Sherlock huffs, frustrated, _embarrassed._ “Do I need to say it plainly? _Beg_ perhaps?”

Joan’s eyebrows raise. “No, but _asking_ would sure be nice.”

“Have I not asked?”

“Fine.” She motions to the kitchen, holds out her hand. “Pass me a glass, then, I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock stares at her, jaw ticking to one side. “Point made.”

“ _Then?_ ” she parrots back to him.

After a moment of struggling with himself, Sherlock stands to face her directly. “I’d like to drink from the source. Directly. I find…” He winces at his own clunky wording and, possibly, at what he says next. “I see no point in denying I desire that intimacy, as it is largely the point of this endeavor.”

_Intimacy,_ Joan thinks, but huffs a little laugh as she flushes. “ _Endeavor_.”

It makes Sherlock relax a little if only to roll his eyes at her. “This _fetish,_ alright? Are we happy now?”

Joan smiles at him. “I am,” she says, but she still doesn’t know what they’re doing here. “So how do you want…?”

 “You have to pee now, you didn’t go before you left lunch,” Sherlock says.

Oh, she hates it when he does that, but he’s right of course. “ _Now?_ ”

“Yes,” he replies and— _of all fucking things_ —lays down on the floor. “Your skirt is rather nice, but also convenient for these purposes.”

Joan’s best friend is a complete lunatic. _“_ In the _library!?_ ” she exclaims. Something about the completely serious, weirdly intense look he gives her churns butterflies in her stomach.

“I will mop should I miss so much as a drop,” he tells her with quiet vehemence.

Half turning away, Joan notes the locked door, the obscured windows. There’s no particular reason why _not_ beyond her own inherent _potty training_ , which is likely about to get bashed out of her as thoroughly as her squeamishness. “This is crazy,” she says, mostly to herself, but she’s also coming to stand uncertainly at his side.

Sherlock glances as her skirt, her _crotch_ before meeting her eyes again. “You may leave your underwear on if you prefer.”

Joan does not prefer, slides them off without removing her skirt. She honestly feels herself get a little wet when Sherlock’s eyes track them down her legs, his tongue grazing his lip.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Would you be opposed to kneeling?”

“No,” Joan says. Beyond hiking up her skirt, she doesn’t make too much of a production of kneeling over Sherlock’s face. His unsteady breath tickling over her damp privates makes her jerk. She tries to relax, to think about something besides the fact that she’s effectively _peeing_ _in the middle of their living room._ “Are you going to touch yourself?”

Sherlock hesitates. His hands find her back a moment later. “Would you prefer I not?”

“No, I was just asking,” Joan says, feels an aroused tingle when one of his hands slides off her body and down his own to open his pants. She shuffles, swallowing, “Sorry, give me a second…”

“The anticipation is also desired,” Sherlock answers softly, but adjusts her slightly with a shaky hand. She shifts on her knees to the angle he tugs her to and focuses on counting her breath, on how much she _did_ hold it, she does have to pee.

The first spurt seems to startle both of them, Joan clamping down on reflex, Sherlock grunting, brokenly and raising up towards her. It’s his reaction, more than anything else, that makes her _want_ to relax, which isn’t a _great_ way to relax, but it works soon enough. She’s having a minor internal crisis because _she’s peeing in Sherlock’s mouth._

It sounds _obscene,_ the sort of thing she’d never thought about as sexy in her _whole life_ as her piss gathers in his open mouth. At the thought, she holds it for a moment to let him swallow. He does and she _hears it_ , and finds it so hot her heart is thudding in her chest like she’s run a marathon. She also hears the desperate sound Sherlock lets out, hand fisting in the back of her shirt before he says “ _Don’t stop_ ” and seals his mouth over her. Joan groans as _drinking from the source_ takes on a whole new meaning, Sherlock swallowing her piss as fast as she can release it.

When she has nothing left for him, he licks her clean. It makes her shudder all over and grab at his hair, a clipped off “ _ah!_ ” sneaking past her lips. Before she can go to apologize, he does it again, slower, more thoroughly. “ _Sherlock!_ ” she gasps, baselessly shocked and horrendously aroused.

Sherlock hums, pushes her up some so he can speak. “I suppose I ought to have asked before this point if I might be allowed to make you come.”

“More than allowed,” she gasps out.

If she could spare the thought, it would annoy her that he’s as good at this as he is at everything else. Sherlock takes permission as a challenge to make her come in as many ways as he can move his tongue and as many times as she’ll allow him. They start to blur together around four and five, with Joan having to hold herself up with shaking hands to keep from collapsing onto Sherlock as she comes in waves, panting for breath.

“ _Alright_ ,” she gasps finally, her last orgasm a tiny, sparkling thing. “I can’t… oh, _gosh_ , Sherlock,” she slides back, watches hysterically as his face pops out from under her skirt as she falls to the side into the crook of his arm. He’s so bright eyed and pleased, it doesn’t seem to pass for smug when he strokes up her side. Especially not when his mouth is all slick with _her_ , a lovely pink settled all over his face.

“I take it that was pleasurable for the both of us, then,” Sherlock says and Joan turns to see his hand resting politely on his thigh, come splattered over his t-shirt.

Joan’s breath is still coming a little fast. “You take it correctly,” then her face twists with a question coming out too quickly to stop, “Would it be too romantic to kiss you right now?” She startles when Sherlock suddenly sits up.

“No, it is not! I believe we have Listerine in the—”

Sherlock is Joan’s favorite person. “You can skip the mouthwash,” she says before he can make a break for the bathroom. She shrugs when he turns to her wide eyed; she wipes at his chin with the back of her hand, laughing. “More than worth the—”

“That does make this a touch more romantic, yes,” Sherlock says, but then he kisses her, so he can’t be too bothered by it.

Even if it is a tad sticky.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…have you had enough to drink today?
> 
> (Unsexy reminders: When sitting on faces, please be sure to keep your weight on your knees and not your partner’s neck!)


End file.
